


a symphony that will always be unfinished

by obsidianwalls



Series: Dream SMP Lore [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dream Smp, Emotional Hurt, Panic, Read Beginning Notes, ive had this sitting in my docs since the 16th, no beta we die like george in manhunt, this is unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidianwalls/pseuds/obsidianwalls
Summary: “What are you doing?”He froze, heart-stopping at the stern tone that he hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity. Something that was always in his brain but never had the chance of coming back. Nothing could stop the feeling of being a kid and accidentally fighting a bit too hard when sparring with Techno.“Phil,” his voice was quieter than he wanted. Weaker than he wanted. Wilbur was scared, and his voice showed it. No matter how much he wanted to be brave. Phil raised him to be brave. He had grown up from the awkward little boy that only yelled when it was to protect his brothers. Wilbur couldn’t hide from his dad, even if he wanted to.“What are you doing?” There were footsteps as he spoke. So loud but so far. It almost was like Wilbur was making it up. Did his insanity drive him so far that he could hear his dad when he wasn’t there?-Or... Wilbur's in the room again, and this time he's pressing the button.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: Dream SMP Lore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155290
Kudos: 11





	a symphony that will always be unfinished

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is pretty late to post cause I didn't plan on finishing it, it still is unfinished, but I wanted it up somewhere cause I like it. This has some heavy descriptions of anxiety and self-destructive thoughts so please be wary when reading.

Wilbur’s eyes were trained on the button, paying no mind to the messages written in coal on the walls. When he had started writing it was a joke that trailed into a sleepless night; fingers raw and aching from gripping the coal so tightly to be able to smear the familiar words of an anthem sung in a faint memory.

Something described as insanity felt like a game, something he was winning based on the fearful looks and nervous laughter he got after every word to his friends. The smile on his face felt wrong even though he couldn't stop it, giddy with the adrenaline that felt like electricity from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet. 

The fate of the country was just a movement away. Destroying everything he worked for was just one press of a button. Sending L’manburg, or Manburg as the man who stole it all called it, into nothing but a cavern and memories was so easy. 

Everyone would feel the fear that shocked him when Eret so easily pressed the button and spoke words that replayed in his head no matter how much time passed. Everyone would understand the blinding anger when he was exiled from the country he created with words laced with poison from someone who was meant to endorse him. Everyone would feel just as betrayed as he has always been feeling.

The thought of causing the emotion, feeling something other than anger and numb electricity was intoxicating. Would Wilbur regret it? Would he be proud? Would he feel the same as when they won their freedom and happily signed the declaration with his friends grouped around him? Nothing could be confirmed unless he does it.

His unfinished symphony will forever stay unfinished.

Soft piano changed to suspenseful shrieks of strings, ending with an uneasy silence that followed a deafening sound. Wilbur was a conductor that always created the perfect chaos, even when he started with innocent intent. It always starts with happy excitement at spiraled into malicious overthinking; a cycle that he couldn’t escape but didn’t recognize.

Wilbur created a war for independence. He planned an election that ended in chaos. Started a secret world that crumbled from the inside out. He made friendships and alliances that closed with the loss of lives and blood being spit onto the smooth stone of the pit he created.

A pattern that he only realized when he was about to end everything he made.

A pained laugh fell from bleeding lips. Bruises and cuts littered his body from a fight that ended in surrender and a corrupt deal with a man he once couldn't look at without wanting to pull out his sword and act with no mercy. The color green once made him sick to his stomach; now it made him smirk with pride at the bond he had created from the ruins of war.

It would be over because of him. In the end, Dream ended it all. Even if Wilbur was pressing the button, Dream was the creator of the chaos. Wilbur was the vehicle that was being driven to insanity.

Wilbur’s hands were shaking as he reached out, wrapped in bloody cloth and dirt dried on his fingers, feeling the wood button for a moment. Memories of building the walls. Making the van. Writing the declaration. Watching as Tommy and Dream marched in silence. Signing the peace treaty. Rebuilding after the chaos. It was nothing now.

“What are you doing?”

He froze, heart-stopping at the stern tone that he hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity. Something that was always in his brain but never had the chance of coming back. Nothing could stop the feeling of being a kid and accidentally fighting a bit too hard when sparring with Techno. 

“Phil,” his voice was quieter than he wanted. Weaker than he wanted. Wilbur was scared, and his voice showed it. No matter how much he wanted to be brave. Phil raised him to be brave. He had grown up from the awkward little boy that only yelled when it was to protect his brothers. Wilbur couldn’t hide from his dad, even if he wanted to.

“What are you doing?” There were footsteps as he spoke. So loud but so far. It almost was like Wilbur was making it up. Did his insanity drive him so far that he could hear his dad when he wasn’t there?

“Phil, where are you?” He was scared to ask. This time he didn’t care about the tremble in his voice. It wasn’t real. Phil wasn’t there. His insanity grew to a level he was unable to understand.

The footsteps stopped with a small hum. 

“In L’manburg,” Wilbur didn’t dare turn around. If he turned and no one was there, he was hearing things. If he turned and Phil was there, what would he do?

Explain, to his father, that he was about to blow up a country he made? Explain the anger he always felt? Explain the fear and betrayal that burned into every piece of his brain? Explain that everything felt hollow and he had to fill the void with something?

Wilbur couldn’t do anything but tell the truth. It looked bad and, it was bad. The pride that simmered under his skin wouldn’t let up for the sake of his dad. It was his choice, and he would go through with it.

With a shaky breath, Wilbur turned and gave a weak smile. He wanted to feel it all. He wanted to feel anger and confusion at Phil showing up now instead of so much earlier. Feel the guilt that burned his chest at becoming a mess when was raised so kindly. Feel the heavy sadness that forced tears from his eyes at the sudden arrival of who he wished for when he was shaking with broken sobs in the echoing walls of Pogtopia. But he stayed numb.

Phil looked tired.

His wings shone purple like they always have, a shimmering memory from growing up and being mesmerized with the feeling of feathers under his fingertips. They were the only thing that had not changed over the months they were apart. His clothes were worn and dirty. Short braids that neatly weaved through his hair were gone just as the children that would put them in were. His usual easy smile was replaced with a blank expression.

Phil was always easy to read, and now, eyes searching for any emotions that broke through the thick veil of hidden emotion, it seemed impossible. It was terrifying. Wilbur was always calm when he was around the older, laughing with an easy smile and able to see when his jokes settled happily in his mind or the endearing words would be at home with all the others exchanged over the years. Now, the room was tense and silent.

“This is L’manburg,” The laugh that fell from his lips sounded bitter more than anything. Wilbur kicked the wooden chair out of the way and paced forward, straightening his back to stand taller over the authoritative figure that raised him. Phil didn’t drop the stern gaze set on Wil’s face, arms crossed over his chest. The only movement was the short flutter of wings behind him, shifting with a familiar noise that always greeted him when Phil was in a room. “Okay, I will admit,”

Where was he going with this? Wilbur hadn’t decided what he would say, rocking back on his heels before reaching up to tug the beanie off his head.

“Do you know what this button is?” He let his fingers brush down the wood again, looking over to see the reaction provided from the action. Phil didn’t tense or move to pull his hand back, only giving a nod and small noise to confirm.

_ Give me a reaction. Do something. _

Words burned in the back of his throat. Screaming and lashing out was weak. A yelling match wouldn’t bring what he wants. He had to act with calculated movements to see the range of emotions that hid behind walls built up in the few seconds Wilbur took to turn around.

“Have you heard,” a beat, “the song on these walls before? Have you heard the song?” Wilbur knew the answer but that didn’t stop the question that burned on the tip of his tongue. “I was just saying, I made a big point and it was poignant, it was that there was a special place where men can go but,’

Phil stepped closer, placing a hand on the lyrics Wilbur wrote.

“But there’s not there anymore. Do you know? It’s not,” A deep sigh released from Phil’s chest as he removed his hand from the wall. The charcoal left dust on his fingers. Something, he got something. Wilbur ignored the feeling that swelled from finally getting a reaction.

“It is there,” The sincere tone sent a sharp feeling through his heart, “You’ve just won it back, Wil,”

“No, Phil. I’m always so close to pressing this button!” Phil was wrong and he would tell him. Wilbur wanted him to flinch, to reach out, to step back, anything in response to the distressed yell. “Phil, I have been- I have been here seven or eight times. Seven or eight times,”

Broken is a word that comes to mind, and Wilbur hated it. He could only imagine how pathetic he looked. Voice cracked and rough while he gestured widely to the walls, the walls that listened to choked sobs and angry screaming when no one else would.

“Phil, I’ve been here so many times,” the distant sound of yells cut through. The familiar, defensive tone of a fiery blonde was heard along with the rough drawl of a hybrid. “They’re fighting. They’re fighting!”

“And you want to just blow it all up?” He ignored the distraction, stepping forward with his words but hesitating when Wilbur created the distance again and turned to stare at the wooden button.

“I do,” Wilbur’s words were firm but trailed off, “I think I do,”

There was the truth. It felt like poison, to spit out the words and wait through the moment of silence that Phil needed to embrace the confession. He could read Wilbur like a book. There was no doubt he could see the hesitation and anxiety that riddled his brain.

“You fought so hard to get this,” Phil knocked on the stone wall when he stumbled over his words, a habit he had formed years ago to fill the silence, “To get this land back,”

The small mumble of words that Wilbur breathed out was barely audible.

“So hard,” Phil knew he was right, and he was not afraid to show it. Wilbur knew Phil was right, and he hated it.

“I don’t even know if it works anymore, Phil,” Deflecting is what Wilbur knew best, an old friend that was always ready to embrace him in its familiar hold, “I don’t even know if the button works. I could- I could press it and it might…”

Wilbur was by himself again, just as he was a few minutes ago.

The wood under his shaking fingers. Eyes glassy as they stared. He could press it. Forget the hesitation, forget the possible disappointment, forget everything but the click of the button and hiss of a fuse burning. Time would be frozen, just for a moment to listen for the light of fire and moment of peace before a deafening explosion would ring out. It could kill him. Wilbur knew he was too close to be left unscathed. Maybe he wanted it to hurt him. If he truly wanted L’manburg gone, the president would have to go out with it, wouldn’t he?

“Do you really wanna take that risk?” Phil’s hesitant laughter pulled away from the isolating feeling. “There’s a lot of TNT potentially connected to that button,”

But Wilbur had already made up his mind.

“Phil, There was a saying Phil. Uh, by a traitor,” A smile crept its way onto Wilbur’s lips as he spoke. The giddy feeling started rising in his chest again. “Once part of L’manburg. A traitor I don’t know if you’ve heard of, Eret?” saying the name out loud again was strange.

“Yeah...” Phil's hesitation and worry laced his words. Another reaction, somewhat.

“He had a saying, Phil,” his throat was dry, the sound of his heartbeat was booming in his ears. 

Everything was replaying again. A second time to think about all the regrets and worries and choices that led Wilbur here. A second time to feel the nauseating mix of emotions. A second moment of peace before it all.

“It was never meant to be,”

The wooden button was pressed delicately, hand moving swiftly so it wouldn’t be pulled back. It was done. There was no going back. Strangely, It was wrong. Saying the words. The click of the button. The few seconds where the TNT was lit and hissed through the walls. Everything built up to a moment that didn’t feel nearly as fulfilling as he wanted it to be.

The sound of the first explosion was lost to popped eardrums. It shook the entire stone room and sent dust everywhere. Wilbur didn’t have time to react before he was grabbed harshly and tugged to press against a far corner, large wings wrapped around him like a protective shield from the horror of the world.

Phil wrapped Wilbur in his wings when he wanted him to feel safe. He would end up sitting in his lap, curled up while they rocked back and forth. A broken tune hummed to calm him down, sometimes a story told in hushed whispers and soft smiles. Hair tickled his nose whenever Phill leaned over to hug him tighter to his chest. He would fall asleep tucked against his chest, calmed from whatever panic or overwhelming emotions that brought them to the position.

Now, Wilbur was cramped under the wings while he watched with wide eyes as Phil breathed in shuttering breaths and squeezed his eyes shut. The explosions sent flaming pieces of wood and burning rocks barreling into them. Feathers fell to the ground matted with blood, bones broke with horrible sounds, and Phil pushed through it to protect his son from harm.

...

**Author's Note:**

> and we know the rest.
> 
> I wish I wrote this faster and actually finished it but I got bored and school picked up so I couldn't whoops. I actually wrote this during my English class which isn't great since I'm graduating soon but oh well.
> 
> I'm working on a lot of fics and have decided that I'm gonna write lore stuff and post it even if the arc has moved on, so this is the first step even if it is unfinished!
> 
> follow my twitter @obsidianwalls_ for updates on my writing and such if you'd like! I tweet quite a lot so if you wanna know my brain its there for you :] anyways thank you for reading :D


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